“I propose a small deal. Beneficial for both of us…” Zolotaryov deliberately went silent. “Go on.” “You’ll give me this week, and in return I’ll do everything so your cultural center remains safe and sound.” “What do you mean?” And then it hit me. I let out a loud breath and stared at him in horror. “You… You want me to be your… escort?” “Ugh, why such ugly words?” “And you’re hardly escort material.” “Then who?” “Tell me…” “My woman.” I thought I’d been cured of him and calmed down ten years ago. But Zolotaryov came back to destroy everything dear to me and tear my heart to shreds again. He cares only about business, and I can offer only myself. We made a deal in which only my pride will suffer.
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